Fall 1968 • Vol. XXX No. 5 PoetryJanuary 1, 1968 |

Loving

I tried to find you in the tongues of my body, along the walls of my heart, baled in the cords of my eyes, or bound in my brain's knot. I knew you were there, you must have been, from my sap gone tropic, bending after the leave of the light that was in me, in me, growing me up to be myself entire in my completed body. Then I tried how my tongue would speak you, or how my hand would feed you, how my blood would clear and run with your color. What I heard was my praise and pleasure drumming from my own skin by my own bonesword. Oh is loving leaning all the ears of the body to the winds, and what they sing? holding the cells' breath in bright study? listening? listening?

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